Wayne finally got the answer he desired.
Vladimir didn't know Tom's true identity but had merely followed Professor Corvinus's orders. He was also aware someone would impersonate him to stage a performance.
Wayne wanted to dig deeper, but Vladimir was clearly just a pawn, knowing even less than Katerina.
After some thought, Wayne left a mark on him—just in case.
By the next morning, the students were shocked to find that Durmstrang's pupils had vanished overnight.
No one knew when they'd left. Only the empty long table at breakfast hinted at their absence.
Those who went to the grounds saw the skeletal ship on the Black Lake had disappeared too—as if hauled away in a midnight escape.
But curiosity soon faded. After all, the other schools would depart today as well. Durmstrang had simply left a bit earlier.
...
Early that morning, Wayne brought all the girls into his suitcase world.
He hadn't disturbed them the previous night, as things had wrapped up too late.
The girls, having held back their questions all evening, bombarded him at once.
Instead of answering immediately, Wayne asked about the tournament's outcome after his departure.
Following Cedric and Vladimir, Fleur was the first to reach the seventh floor, then Cassandra.
Sakura...
"So you got lost again?" Wayne sighed, looking at the girl with her hair tied in a large bun. Today, she wore a traditional Japanese outfit, looking utterly adorable.
"I was so close!" Sakura stuck out her tongue playfully. "I heard puppy noises and followed them, but it was a Three-Headed Dog. Its hide was so thick—it took forever to make it submit!"
"Then... I couldn't find my way back."
Wayne ruffled her bun affectionately. "It's fine. If you really want the Holy Grail, I'll make you one later."
"No need!" Sakura shook her head, clenching her fists. "Next time, I won't get lost!"
Tomoyo kindly reminded her, "Sakura, you'll have graduated by the next tournament."
Sakura instantly turned ashen. The other girls couldn't help but laugh.
Under their urging, Wayne recounted what had happened afterwards.
Upon hearing of Voldemort's return, only Cho and Astoria showed deep concern—the others were shocked but not overly worried.
Cho's father worked at the Ministry of Magic, and Astoria was a pure-blood heiress. They understood the gravity of the situation.
Wayne produced an array of dazzling jewellery—styles for both men and women—and distributed them.
"These are my latest creations. Not only do they shield against the Killing Curse with an Aegis enchantment, but they'll also Apparate the wearer randomly within fifty miles if triggered. I'll sense it too."
"Give them to your families. If you need more, just ask."
No one refused. Turning down such life-saving measures would be irresponsible to their loved ones.
Fleur even planted a passionate kiss on him. "Once I've sorted things in France, I'll come back to you."
"I want to stay with big brother, too!" Gabrielle raised her small hand.
"You just wait patiently for school to start," Fleur pinched her little sister's chubby cheeks. "You've been playing around wildly this whole year. Mum will definitely give you a proper scolding when we get back."
The little girl's round face crumpled. "I don't want to go back!"
"Wishful thinking."
The sisters' bickering lightened the atmosphere considerably.
In the final moments, everyone left Wayne with Tomoyo and Sakura.
Mahoutokoro was too far away. After this return, their next meeting might not be until after graduation. Though both Sakura and Tomoyo had already met Mahoutokoro's graduation requirements, they'd decided to enjoy one more carefree year of school life before coming to Britain to find Wayne.
Fleur had similar plans. She would stay at Beauxbatons as a teaching assistant for a year after returning. Originally, she'd wanted to join the French Ministry of Magic, but Wayne had talked her out of it.
Just look at Cho's father to see how dull and tedious Ministry work could be.
His influence hadn't yet extended to France, so he couldn't offer Fleur much help there.
...
Meanwhile, the remaining Headmasters still at Hogwarts gathered to discuss the final champion selection.
"The attacker who assaulted Vladimir must be found. Without that interference, he would have undoubtedly won the championship after taking the Invisibility Grass," Katerina declared forcefully, completely unaware of what had transpired the previous night.
Representing Hogwarts wasn't Dumbledore but Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore was presumably already at the Ministry by now. Knowing everything that had occurred, Professor McGonagall felt extremely conflicted and irritable.
Hearing Katerina's aggressive words, she slammed her hand on the table in anger.
"If this came from Professor Maxime, I might accept it. But Professor Katerina, your thinking is rather naive."
"Look at where Vladimir collapsed—he was still some distance from the tower, not to mention the Acromantula and Horned Serpent waiting in the final five or six challenges."
"That impostor reached the seventh level by Apparating, and even then needed to ambush Diggory to claim the Cup. Do you truly believe Vladimir could have accomplished this?"
Katerina's face turned ashen. "Are you suggesting the championship should go to Diggory?"
The other Headmasters watched the drama unfold.
Zaka even began stirring the pot: "I agree. Contestant Diggory demonstrated qualities absolutely worthy of championship status. Without these irregularities, the Cup's ownership wouldn't be in question."
Their school's contestant Buso had been eliminated by Vladimir's sneak attack—now was his chance to return the favour.
Mahoutokoro's Koga remained silent, smiling absently, his thoughts clearly elsewhere. He pondered whether to implement navigation courses back at school to prevent future contestants from being directionally challenged.
Lafferty maintained an aloof, detached posture.
Cassandra had performed well, but as the third contestant to reach the summit after Fleur, the championship couldn't possibly go to her.
Only Madame Maxime showed any reaction.
"I said no such thing," Professor McGonagall retorted stiffly. "Diggory already approached me voluntarily. He's withdrawn his claim, so the championship belongs to Beauxbatons."
"McGonagall, are you serious?" Madame Maxime couldn't believe what she'd heard and asked again.
"Absolutely," Professor McGonagall nodded solemnly. "The Cup is currently in Mr Lawrence's possession. It can be collected after the award ceremony at noon."
Madame Maxime smiled and gave a slight bow. "Ultimately, we're the ones benefiting here. Though Potter's participation was unexpected, his performance was truly outstanding."
"As for the Cup..." She paused. "Let's leave it in Mr Lawrence's care. As a school governor of Beauxbatons, he's qualified."
Professor McGonagall had graciously handed the championship to Beauxbatons, so it wouldn't do to be ungrateful.
The prestige was already secured—just a trophy, really. Might as well use it to curry favour with Wayne.
Another win-win for Hogwarts and Beauxbatons, with Katerina being the only loser.
In her anger, she didn't even attend the noon award ceremony, directly leading the Durmstrang students away from Hogwarts.
...
Dumbledore arrived at the Ministry of Magic. As today's discussion was extremely important, he'd formally scheduled an appointment with Fudge.
Originally set for 10 am, it wasn't until the afternoon that Umbridge finally escorted him into Fudge's office.
This made Dumbledore uneasy.
"Dolores, you may leave," Fudge instructed.
Umbridge gave him a sickly sweet smile before closing the door.
Dumbledore paid no attention. Upon entering, his gaze immediately went to the two black-robed figures in the corner.
"Cornelius, why are there Dementors here?"
"My bodyguards, Albus. Someone in the Ministry wants me dead. I trust no one now. You'll help me, won't you?"
Fudge looked earnest. He'd spent all day transferring these Dementors from Azkaban. Though unsettling, only these creatures made him feel safe.
"I don't believe Dementors are trustworthy." Dumbledore merely glanced at the two Dementors, who immediately shrank away as if sensing something terrifying, squeezing themselves out through the window cracks.
"Dumbledore, have you gone mad?" Fudge stared at him incredulously. "Half of us can sleep soundly precisely because Dementors guard Azkaban."
"But Voldemort has returned," Dumbledore said softly. "You saw it yourself, didn't you?
"You remember his methods of bewitchment. Dark creatures are his minions. You must replace Azkaban's guards. Not just that, but the giants too—"
"Enough!"
Fudge's mouth opened and closed before he finally interrupted Dumbledore, shouting: "The Dark Lord hasn't returned! Yes, he came... close to resurrection.
"But I saw three Killing Curses hit him. The man in the cauldron died!"
Fudge paced agitatedly around the room.
"Now we just need to catch Peter Pettigrew and whoever rescued him—a new schemer, but nowhere near as dangerous as the Dark Lord."
"You left too early. You didn't see what happened afterwards."
Dumbledore remained patient, calmly recounting all subsequent events.
Fudge's mouth gaped wide enough to fit an entire sentence.
"T-two You-Know-Whos? He's come back again? Impossible, you must be joking!"
Gasping in shock, Fudge shook his head while denying Dumbledore's words. "Potter told you this, didn't he? That boy's always been peculiar, so desperate for attention."
"No, it was Wayne who told me."
"M-Mr Lawrence..." Fudge grew even more terrified, then seemed to remember something. "You said he shattered half of Voldemort's body? Wait, who witnessed this?
"Don't mention Potter, I've long thought there was something off about that boy. Why didn't you tell me he could speak Parseltongue?"
"Do you believe Mr Lawrence would lie?" Dumbledore invoked Wayne's name once more.
Compared to Harry's lack of influence, Wayne's existence was something Fudge couldn't ignore.
He now felt grateful that Wayne had brought Fudge around the day before.
Yet even so, he still refused to believe the truth.
A faint disgust rose in Dumbledore's heart.
Such was a politician.
"If what you say is true..." Fudge raised his head, his bewildered shock hardening into resolve, as if reaching some realisation.
"Then how do you think You-Know-Who could survive so many Killing Curses?
"Dumbledore, stop trying to manufacture panic to seize power. There are too many holes in your lies."
Under Dumbledore's incredulous gaze, Fudge spoke each word deliberately. "Whether it's Potter or Lawrence, they're both under your influence, aren't they?
"I saw You-Know-Who's death with my own eyes. He was killed by Peter Pettigrew, Barty Crouch Jr, and some mastermind—yet you claim it was You-Know-Who again."
"You-Know-Who killing You-Know-Who?"
"Are you mad or am I? If you want to deceive me, at least fabricate a plausible story."
By the end, Fudge was panting like an ox, his face crimson.
Dumbledore froze. Could he tell Fudge about Horcruxes?
Walls have ears, and the Ministry with Fudge at its helm was a wall made of sieves. If Fudge learned of Horcruxes, he could guarantee the entire Ministry would know by tomorrow.
How many ambitious souls craving immortality would that create?
Suddenly, Dumbledore found himself without any arguments to persuade him.
Seeing his reaction, Fudge grew more convinced of his suspicions. His gaze shifted from anger to hatred, tinged with a hint of fear.
Anyone threatening his power became his enemy.
Even Dumbledore, who'd once supported him greatly.
Flicking his fingers towards the door, Fudge declared:
"That's enough for today. The Ministry has much to handle. I'll contact you tomorrow to discuss Hogwarts' educational approach."
Sighing, Dumbledore rose and left the office.
He knew their paths had diverged from this moment onward.